


I See a Spaceship in the Sky

by cosmic_coincidence



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 12
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:53:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_coincidence/pseuds/cosmic_coincidence
Summary: It's been a year since the Doctor left, and Ryan and Graham have moved away from Sheffield to start new lives, leaving Yaz to grieve alone. So, when the Doctor comes home after being imprisoned and tortured, will the fam come back together? Or will Yaz be the only one willing to travel in the TARDIS again?And when the Doctor seems too ill and even she is too reluctant to travel again, what will Yaz do?
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	1. Three-hundred and sixty-five days

_“Doctor… is that you?”_

Yaz hadn’t seen the Doctor in a year. Her best friend, the woman she loved more than she thought possible, who she had watched walk to her death, was gone. Never to return.  
Every day was a new, painstaking day, in which the Doctor wasn’t there. A new day where Yaz was riddled with guilt and grief, mind never quite there, her thoughts always back on Gallifrey.

Replaying the moment she let the Doctor go. 

A year later, and she was all alone. Replaying the past on an endless terrible loop.

For the first month or so, Yaz didn’t move. She stayed at home, and very rarely left her room. She just wanted to sleep forever, but she couldn’t. Her mind wouldn’t shut down, refusing to let her fall into the nightmares lurking in the back of her head. She never felt her father rubbing her shoulders, never heard her sister rabbiting on to distract her, never saw her mother crying in the doorway.

A few months after the Doctor left, Ryan and Graham came round for the last time. Saying something about moving to London. Maybe Ryan had a job offer in an apprentice engineering role. Perhaps Graham was going back into bus driving. He said something about needing to keep moving, or to move on. Yaz said goodbye, she thinks, but she can’t be sure. Maybe it was just in her head; maybe she was just hearing the Doctor saying goodbye to her.

_Live great lives._

A week after Ryan and Graham left, Yaz got up. Her family tried their best not to react when she walked through to the front room, properly dressed, standing tall. “I’m going back to work,” she declared, and they nodded hesitantly, carefully. Yaz worked the beat six days a week, and on Sunday’s she reluctantly went to family-issued therapy. She just wanted to keep moving, keep busy and live her life. Sitting in therapy felt like slowing down, and instead of going forward, she was forced to look back.  
It was even more difficult to be honest with her therapist when she had to lie about the circumstances. 

_I met the Doctor on a train.  
She saved my life… when I was attacked by... this man.  
We travelled the country together.  
I loved her._ (This at least, was true)  
_She left me to…  
\- to commit suicide._

Even though this was a lie to cover the fact that the Doctor sacrificed her life on an alien planet to save their lives, she realised that at the bare bones of it, that’s what the Doctor had done. She’d killed herself.

What happened to the Doctor on Gallifrey? Were there more secrets she hadn’t told her? Yaz started to doubt whether she knew the Doctor at all. So, maybe more than before, she owed it to her old friend to keep going in her memory.

Six months of torturous therapy, six months of arresting petty shoplifters and giving warnings for drunk and disorderliness. Yaz was finally offered a promotion, and she took it. Not for herself because she didn’t care about policing anymore, not for her family, not for her therapist, but for the Doctor.

_Live great lives._

Did it count if it was forced?

Yaz sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes and cheeks with a sigh. Another bloody day starts. She gets up and marks the previous day off the calendar, and, with a sucker punch to the gut, she realises that it’s been a year since the Doctor left. She’s replayed that haunting day so many times in her mind, that she doesn’t do it again. Instead, she replays the 364 days that came after it. And it dawns on her that she hasn’t lived at all. Her grief didn’t manifest itself in productivity, but instead it formed itself as bed-stricken grief and mind-numbing work. While Ryan and Graham got back into work they enjoyed, moving away from this cursed city, Yaz had lost herself. That guilt that plagued the recesses of her brain shot to the forefront, because now she hadn’t just let the Doctor go, she also disobeyed her dying plea.

_Live great lives._  
Maybe a year of mourning was a year enough.  
Maybe it was time to move on. 

On cue, as if to stop Yaz from moving on from time and space, the precious thrum and wheeze of the TARDIS started to echo across Sheffield. Yaz’s heart fell into her stomach, her wrists tingled, her breath hitched, as she ran to the window and saw below the city skyline, materialising in the court outside her flats, the faithful blue box she thought was assigned to her dreams.

“Oh my god…” The words had barely left her mouth when she suddenly jolted forwards, pushing out of her bedroom, ripping over the front door as her mum called out “ _Yaz?_ ” at the sound of her bare feet slapping against the floor. 

She was in her pyjamas, pink and loose, leaping down the staircase, pleading that her psyche wasn’t playing tricks on her, begging that when she got outside the TARDIS was actually there. 

“Morning, Ya- oh!”

Moments later, a barely fazed Yaz was bolting out of the front door and, heart soaring, mind racing, she saw the TARDIS fully materialised just steps away.  
She kept running, ignoring the gravel digging into her feet, until she slammed into the TARDIS door. She pushed the handle, but it was locked.

“Doctor!” she called, shaking the handle. Her voice cracked, “Doctor, it’s Yaz!”

Suddenly, the door opened, and Yaz stepped back.

A figure stood in the doorway.

“Doctor… is that you?”

The Doctor collapsed forwards, and Yaz yelped, catching her under the arms, softly bring her down to the ground. Yaz could barely breathe as a wave of horror overcame her. It was the Doctor, alright, but her hair was ragged and dark, falling to her torso. Her face was gaunt, sunken eye sockets, cheeks pulled in. She was almost starved, wearing plain clothes that weren’t her own. 

“Oh god – Doctor, I’ve got you. It’s Yaz. Look at me, Doctor, you’re safe.” Yaz stuttered and stumbled over her words as tears burned and her bottom lip trembled. 

The Doctor wheezed softly, eyes focusing on the woman cradling her. “Yaz…?”

Yaz half-laughed, half-cried. “It’s me,” she coughed, stroking the Doctor’s jagged cheekbone. 

“Y’not real, you can’t be…” 

“I’m real, you’re home, you’re gonna be alright.” 

As she whispered comfort to the barely-conscious woman, Najia and Hakim rushed out the door after their daughter. In disbelief, they ran over to the pair, the image before them seemingly impossible. 

“Yaz, it’s alright, we've got her,” Najia whispered softly, pulling her daughter up and back, as Hakim inspected the Doctor. 

Hakim looked up and said, “She’s very ill - we need to get her an ambulance.”

“No!” Yaz interjects before her mum can get out her phone. “No, we need to take her back to the flat, we can look after her there. Please.”

“Yasmin…”

“Please, dad, we can’t take her to the hospital – trust me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Hakim nodded and asked for a hand. The couple picked the Doctor up, keeping her slumped head up, and walked her towards the lift. Quickly, Yaz peaked inside the TARDIS, joy and disbelief permeating through her at the site of the bigger dimension tucked inside, and then closed the door.

The Doctor was home.

///

The first hour that passed, Yaz didn’t leave the Doctor’s side. She was laying in her bed, sleeping almost peacefully, when she suddenly woke with a start.  
“Yaz!” she cried, shooting up, immediately collapsing back down with a cry of pain.

“Doctor, I’m here,” Yaz said, holding her gently by the arms. “Are you okay?”

She wanted to ask her what happened, where had she been for a year, who had done this to her, but she knew that the Doctor was in no state to answer these questions. For now, she just wanted to hear that the Doctor was okay, that she felt safe.

“I’m hungry. D’you – _ah_ ,” she winced as she tried to sit up. “D’you have any custard creams?”

“I’ll ask.” Yaz hadn’t bought any biscuits, especially custard creams, because even though she knew it was ridiculous, she just couldn’t bring herself to experience such a stark reminder of the Doctor’s death. Thankfully, they had some, and Yaz put one up to the Doctor’s mouth. 

“Eat it slowly, Doctor, you’ve got an empty stomach.”

Ignoring this advice, the ravenous Doctor lunged forwards and bit into the biscuit, taking it out of Yaz’s hand. Yaz couldn’t help but smile.

“Mmm, that’s better,” she mumbled, involuntarily spraying crumbs. “God, the whole five years, all I could think about was custard creams. And you, Yaz, of course. Dreamt of your face every night, y’know. But, my day’s thought were dedicated to custard creams.”

Yaz’s laughter died in her throat as the reality hit her. It was easy to be distracted by the Doctor’s purposefully distracting banter, but the image of the woman before her wounded her. “Doctor,” she swallowed. “where were you for five years?”

The Doctor’s eyes turned dark, and she closed them for a moment. Then, she reached for Yaz’s hands, so soft and warm, and curled her fingers through Yaz’s. An anchor in the dark. “I’m not ready.” was all she whispered.

Yaz nodded, muttering her understandings, because she got it. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, about her trauma, about five years where? Being tortured – on Gallifrey, in prison, kidnapped? She was willing to wait a lifetime for these answers. For now, she would just be the Doctor’s comfort, her care. Because that’s all Yaz had wanted, really, this past year. She never wanted to talk about it or think about it, she just wanted to be numbed from the pain. 

And so, the rest of the day was spent lying next to the Doctor, talking quietly, smiling, stroking her hair, holding her hand through her nightmares. Just being next to her.

/// 

Yaz opened her eyes, and it was dark outside. For a second, Yaz thought she’d dreamt it all, but then she felt a cold breeze, and saw the Doctor next to her on the bed, hogging the entire duvet. Yaz smiled. Suddenly, she realised she’d forgotten to tell Ryan and Graham. They were in London, of course, and wouldn’t have a clue their friend was alive, was home.  
The Doctor sighed deeply, and Yaz watched as she lifted her legs up, tucking the duvet under her feet. She felt safe, even in her sleep.  
_I’ll text ‘em in the morning_ , Yaz thought, and wrapped an arm around the sleeping Doctor.


	2. Queen of Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter today in which Yaz and the Doctor engage in the endearing habit of not communicating with one another!

_CRASH!_

Yaz’s eyes snapped open, shooting up at the dream-piercing sound of breaking glass. The fog of sleep stirred in her mind, and for a few seconds Yaz was completely baffled – is she safe? Is the Doctor safe? _The Doctor_! The past twenty-four hours flashed before her eyes, the horror and joy of a strange reunion. Yaz looked to her side and found her bed empty.

“I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise…” the Doctor’s echoed voice suddenly floated through to the bedroom. It was high-pitched and panicked. Immediately, Yaz leapt up, rushing through to the kitchen, and saw the Doctor standing behind the counter, still in the pyjama’s Yaz had given her the night before.

“It just slipped out of my hands, I didn’t mean to cause such a mess, Najia. I’m really sorr-"

“It’s okay, love,” Najia interjected softly, kneeling down with a dustpan and brush. 

As Najia swept up the shards of glass and scattered biscuits, the Doctor babbled away nervously, running a shaking hand through her hair. Her eyes flitted around randomly, and caught Yaz’s. In an instant, her demeanour changed, panic smothered by a cheerful grin.

“G’mornin’, Yaz!” she beamed, eyes softening.

“I heard something smash,” Yaz said in response.

“Ah yeah, sorry ‘bout that, Yaz, I was looking for a mid-mornin’ snack and I dropped the biscuit jar. Najia’s been kind enough to sweep the mess up for me. Sleep well?”

“Um, yeah, thanks.” Yaz murmured as she walked up to the Doctor’s side. Over the delicate sound of tinkling glass, Yaz leaned in and whispered, “Are you okay?”

The Doctor grinned. “’Course I am!” She looked down, and noticed Yaz’s almost terrified expression – gazing at the Doctor as if she was as fragile as the glass jar shattered on the floor. “Hey,” the Doctor said gently, pulling Yaz in for a hug. “’Of course I’m okay – I’m the Queen of Okay. It’s just a shame that all these biscuits are gonna get chucked. Thanks, Najia.” she called over Yaz’s shoulder as Najia left the kitchen with an awkward, yet concerned, smile.

Yaz pursed her lips. Looking down at her with bright eyes and a sparkling smile was a version of the Doctor she knew all too well. The faux-happy countenance was a threadbare mask that the Doctor had equipped too many times, to hide her feelings, her sorrow. Yaz rarely got a glimpse under the cheerful persona – sometimes the Doctor would stop mid-sentence or her distant eyes would betray her racing mind. Yaz was determined to care for the Doctor not just by comforting her, but by helping her confront the terror plaguing her. Eventually.

For now, the only question on Yaz’s lips was a pathetic mumble, “You called her Najia.”

The Doctor tilted her head to the side like a confused puppy. “That’s her name, isn’t it?”

“You normally call her ‘Yaz’s mum’.”

She shrugged. “I s’pose I did. May as well call her by her actual name now, eh?” Ending it at that, she pulled out of their embrace and headed for the sofa; a silent, perplexed Yaz followed behind. Plonking herself down, the Doctor continued, “So – new day! What’s on the agenda?”

“The agenda?”

“Well, what’re we gonna do today? I’m thinkin’ breakfast in bed, movie marathons and popcorn. Honestly, all I wanna do today is snuggle with you in bed and just chat about nothin’, y’know – Yaz, are you alright?”

Yaz’s mind caught up with her body and she realised that her mouth was hanging open, that she was just staring at the Doctor. She repressed her sudden heart-fluttering panic and her concern vanished. “’Course I am!” she spluttered, echoing the Doctor’s words. “That sounds great, Doctor, but I’ve got… um, an appointment at 11. Would you be alright hanging out here by yourself for an hour or two?”

For a split-second, Yaz thought she saw the Doctor frown, but her furrowed brow was immediately vanquished. “Yeah sure, don’t worry ‘bout me! Hey – I’ll pop ‘round and see Ryan and Graham! They’re only ‘round the corner, aren’t they?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you – they’ve moved to London.”

The frown was back, and this time it stuck. “London? When was this?”

“I dunno – eight months ago, nine? I kind of lost track of time this year, to be honest.”

The Doctor’s hand was suddenly resting on Yaz’s, and her heart jolted at the long for yearned touch. Her eyes bore into Yaz’s, delving into the crack’s in her armour, searching for any sign of hurt or grief. “You’ve been alone in this for that long?”

Yaz sighed. “I’ve been fine, Doctor, really. I missed you – so much – but I had my family for support.”

“Y’can’t have talked about our time in the TARDIS, much, could you, though?”

“ _Doctor_ , I’m _fine_. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“ _Yaz, I’m_ fine. I’m worried about you – I mean, I didn’t mean to come back this late, I got me dates wrong and- god, this is a mess, isn’t it?”

Yaz smiled, exhaling softly. She turned her hands in the Doctor’s, cupping her thumbs around them. She stared down at their hands, and noted faint scars over the Doctor’s knuckles; but she didn’t comment on them right then. “It really is. I’ll give Ryan a call when I get back home, he’ll be on his lunch break then, if that’s okay.”

The Doctor nodded resolutely. “Brilliant, I can’t wait! What’s your appointment, by the way?”

“Oh, y’know, just a routine check-up at the doctors,” she lied. “Um, I’m gonna go get dressed.”

An age went by, an age which neither participant wanted to end, when finally, Yaz drew her hands back from the warm clutch of the Doctor’s soft palms. She stood up, murmuring absently about the TV remote, pointing it out to the Doctor, and then left without another word.

The Doctor was left looking at the doorway where Yaz just stood, a thousand words dying on her tongue. 

Softly, Yaz shut the bedroom door and put her head in her hands. She’d lied to the Doctor, so easily, about going to therapy. It didn’t feel right to be dishonest, especially now that she’d just got the Doctor back, but this wasn’t about her; she was fine. How could the Doctor get better, how could she drop her mask, if she was busy nursing Yaz’s wounds? – No, that would be selfish. From now on, Yaz would focus on the Doctor’s road to recovery, and on learning what the Doctor was subjected to for five whole years. And then, the TARDIS waited for them. Time and space. Out of Sheffield, at last. She wiped her eyes and exhaled determinedly. Standing tall as she did six months prior when she announced her return to work, Yaz put on a brave face and got ready for the day.

First thing on the agenda today: ending therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will delve into what happens the rest of the day - including Yaz in therapy, Ryan and Graham's reaction, more miscommunication and the Doctor needing a bath...


	3. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was longer than I expected, and I want to post what I've got so far, so this isn't actually the whole day. This is 11am to 2pm! Yaz has a tough time in this chapter.

“Now, Yasmin, I’m getting a feeling that something has shifted – emotionally, perhaps.”

Distantly, a clock ticked on the wall. Painfully slow seconds. Each tick was normally a reminder of the agonising tedium of therapy; now each second that passed made Yaz feel a little more nauseous. She stared at the ceiling and said, “What makes you say that, Cherian?”

Doctor Cherian smiled tightly, trying to lock eyes with his patient’s. She never called him Doctor, he never called her Yaz; she’d set that straight on day one. He exhaled. “Well for one, you’re laying down. Normally, you sit up stiffly in our sessions – always impatient.”

“Bit rude, that,” Yaz mumbled, twiddling her thumbs.

“You’re avoiding the question, Yasmin.”

“Y’didn’t ask a question.”

Not missing a beat, Cherian asked, “Has something happened since our last session?”

Yaz always hated this room. Mahogany and chestnut wood, leather chairs, wall-to-wall bookshelves. A faint smell of incense, sandalwood. And in the centre of the room sat kind old Doctor Cherian, a Syrian gentleman in tweed. It always felt too nice a room for how Yaz felt. Cherian cleared his throat.

She sighed. “Um, kind of.”

When she left the Doctor at home, she caught a bus to therapy. As she sat with her forehead pressed against the glass, she realised that she had no idea what to tell Doctor Cherian. He thought that the Doctor had committed suicide, so how could she be back? The Doctor was emotionally traumatised, and where had she been for a year? Yaz knew she had to construct a narrative that explained all of this, that also convinced him that she no longer needed therapy. 

When she couldn’t think of anything on the bus ride, she decided she would wing it.

Yaz looked over at Cherian, who was already looking at her expectedly. “Um, well… something happened yesterday. I dunno how to explain it to you, but the Doctor’s alive.”

He frowned, and took his glasses off. 

_Shit_ , Yaz thought, _I’m in for it now._

“What do you mean, she’s alive?”

“She came back home yesterday, just appeared on my doorstep. She’s not very well, but she’s okay. I’m looking after her.”

“Just appeared on your doorstep?”

_He thinks I’ve lost it._

“I’m tellin’ the truth – don’t ask me how, I just am.”

“Yasmin, I understand that yesterday was a significant day for you – it marked a year since the Doctor’s death. I suspected that would have had some emotional significance for you, but –”

“I’ve not conjured her up!” Yaz sat up now, placing her feet firmly on the floor. “Y’can ring my dad, she’s at our house, now. She didn’t end her life, she just went away for a while.”

Going along with the charade, he said, “You say she’s not very well?”

Yaz swallowed quietly, eyes averted. Shook her head. 

The sound of rain pattering on the window filled the silence. Then, “And has her return into your life reignited your feelings for her?”

Yaz’s hearted stuttered, her head snapped up. “Please – no.” She wasn’t thinking about that, not anymore. She couldn’t ever bring that heartsick hope back, not after she spent a year grieving over its loss. No, ever since the Doctor collapsed into her arms yesterday morning, she had been repressing that ache in her chest, distracting her mind with the urgency to take care of her friend. Cherian was _not_ going to be the one to bring these unrequited feelings to the surface.

Thankfully, he didn’t press it any further. Instead, he levelled with her. “Yasmin, I’m not going to pretend to understand how the Doctor is back, nor the circumstances. This hour is for you to tell me what you are feeling, and to heal, not for me to ask questions and delve into the details of your life. I understand that you are more comfortable with ambiguity in your answers – in fact, you’ve never told me the Doctor’s name. But, as your therapist, I _need_ to know how you are emotionally managing with external circumstances.” When Yaz didn’t respond, Cherian sighed sadly. “Yaz, are you okay?”

She breathed slowly, then said, unconvincingly, “Yes.”

///

Yaz ran.

She needed to run.

It was raining.

Cherian didn’t understand.

She didn’t need therapy.

She needed the Doctor’s words.

She didn’t need more meds.

She needed the Doctor’s arms.

Storming out was a bad idea, but Yaz didn’t care. The rain was really coming down, and it was perfect. She wasn’t wrapped up, her jacket didn’t have a hood, but that was fine. The feeling of rain on her skin, rain soaking her, felt so _good_.

The sound of cars driving over wet gravel died away as she ran around the corner, down a park pathway. 

At first, she ran because she was angry at Cherian’s suggestion of prescription, but then the tightness in her chest, the white out-of-breath cold in her throat, the taste of rainwater, the burning in her legs, all drowned out her thoughts and Yaz was a machine. 

She was pain and discomfort and grit and determination.

_Where was she going?_

She left the park behind, found herself striding across the bridge, turning left adjacent to the river speckled with bubbles. 

A strained laugh escaped her throat, thudding with her footfall. No one had ever run this fast or this far before. Thunder thudded in her temples.

_No, it was her heartbeat._

She turned a corner again, onto the main road into the town centre.

The Doctor’s gaunt face and hollow expression flashed in her mind.

She stumbled, her legs bucking, like a marathoner inches from the finish line. 

Yaz cried out as her palms slammed into concrete.

_What was she doing?_

Her heart was beating too fast, but Yaz didn’t notice. Sweat and rain and tears mixed together, but Yaz didn’t notice. She knew she’d gone too far, but she couldn’t dwell on it.  
Resting her cheek on the rain-soaked pavement was no different to a pillow or the Doctor’s body at this point.

Yaz closed her eyes.

///

_“Oh my god, Yaz… is she okay – what happened?”_

_“I don’t know, apparently she just collapsed in the street. Pass me that blanket, please. Thank you.”_

_“It were raining loads, she’s gonna have a cold. She doesn’t look very well, d’you think she’s got a fever? Oh, look at her palms, Hakim, they’re red raw. Why did she fall?”_

_“I rang Doctor Cherian, he said she ran out of the session. She must have kept running for some reason, and then she collapsed. He asked about you too.”_

_“Me – why?”_

_“Well, after a year of therapy to deal with her trauma over you, I imagine you reappearing in our home was a talking point today.”_

_“She was in therapy?”_

_“Mmph… Doctor?”_

_“Yaz! Are you alright?”_

///

The plan to call Ryan at lunchtime dissolved into nothingness in light of Yaz’s mini-breakdown. The rest of the day was spent just how the Doctor had desired, cuddled on the sofa with a film on neither of them were watching. Her torment and trauma was externalised and converted into caring for Yaz, who was half-lying on the Doctor, her head resting on her chest. The Doctor put her arm around her shoulder and stroked the blanket between her fingers as she placed her mouth on the crown of Yaz’s head, smelling the echoes of petrichor in her drying hair. 

Yaz slept in her embrace.

The Doctor turned the film down to a minimum, and heard Yaz’s hitched inhales and small murmurs. Then, kindly, discreetly, she brought her hands up to Yaz’s temples from behind, and projected a dream into her head.They shared the images together, of Gaderian meadows, flowers behind ears, hands intertwined. 

A small kiss, one that Yaz would never realise the Doctor planted in her head herself.

At two o’clock on that rainy afternoon, the Doctor fell asleep and into the nightmares no one could take away for her.


End file.
